T.W. limped over to the driver, climbed up beside him, and said in a low whisper, “Tim.”
“Sheriff.”
“You see me scratch the back of my head, you lay into those horses hard and ride the hell out of here fast as you can.”
“Uh . . .”
“You understand?”
“I understand.”
T.W. climbed down the steps, thudded back upon the dirt, grunted at his pained hip, and strode over to Goodstead. The Danfords walked around the carriage to stand abreast the lawmen.
“You look like quite a posse,” said the minister, who then cackled loudly in the way that men do when they have spent too much time alone and need to hear their own laughter to keep themselves company.
Presently, the stranger reached the waiting quartet. The fellow was a bald six-foot-tall barrel-chested man of fifty with a long silver beard,
